


Snapshots from the Event Horizon

by memoryandmoonstone



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Crew as Family, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Late Night Conversations, The Legato Cycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memoryandmoonstone/pseuds/memoryandmoonstone
Summary: But the seven of you have something that nobody else ever had: time. All the time in the world. Time enough to grow indescribably close. Time enough to learn how to care for each other, how to allow yourselves to be cared for. And, in the case of Barry and Lup, time enough to fall deeply and truly in love.Barry and Lup in the Legato Cycle, as told through the eyes of the family who loved them through it all.-A series of character-centric chapters, each delving into the mind of a particular crew member during the Legato Cycle, as they all watch two of their own reach the point of inevitability.
Relationships: Barry Bluejeans & Merle Highchurch, Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Davenport & Merle Highchurch, Magnus Burnsides & Lup, Magnus Burnsides & Taako, The Director | Lucretia & Lup
Comments: 26
Kudos: 30





	1. Davenport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read a fic that's entirely blupjeans-centric without them saying one line to each other, you've come to the right place. Barry and Lup are gonna show up in a couple chapters, but their interactions aren't the main focus--instead, each chapter will feature a different crew member and their thoughts regarding what's going on in the Legato cycle. 
> 
> Heads-up for this first chapter: there's some davenchurch if you squint. If that's not your thing, though, feel free to read it as platonic. This is the only chapter that'll have any implications of that ship.

In every plane they visit, Davenport makes a point to study the stars. Long nights spent wide awake, head craned towards the sky, remind him of his childhood, of sneaking out of his family’s burrow to watch the stars meander their ways from one horizon to the other. He sat, back then, and he thought, accompanied by the chirps of crickets or the rustle of leaves or the glow of early summer fireflies. He asked himself questions on those nights, and under the twinkle of the stars overhead, he often found his answers. It was on one such night, as his favorite constellation climbed into the night sky from the east, that he decided to become a pilot. 

This plane’s stars shine down at him now, their gentle light mixing with the glow of the full moon overhead. He has a lot of questions for them tonight, because here, at the beginning of the forty-seventh cycle, Davenport finds himself at a crossroads. 

Few secrets remain on the Starblaster. Lup and Barry have been circling for decades now. They all know that. But in the last few cycles, something shifted. Davenport can see as clearly as everyone else that they’re finally on a collision course, a binary star system about to collapse, and as a member of their little family, he couldn’t be happier for them. 

But part of him, the part still quietly clinging to I.P.R.E. standard regulations and protocol, knows that he should intervene now, put a stop to it before they cross that line. It was drilled into his head during training--no inappropriate behavior between crew members. The risks are too high, even for a two-month mission.

Their situation is anything but standard, and their mission is much, much longer than two months, and that makes the risks all the greater. 

The questions bounce around in his skull, rattle his teeth. What if they prioritize each other over the rest of the crew? What if they need space they can’t get on the ship? What if they lose focus, and it costs them the Light or a crew member or, gods forbid, the mission itself?

What if, what if, what if. 

The stars twinkle vacantly down at him. It’s early enough in the cycle that the sky’s still whole, but they’re all foreign to him. He searches for just one familiar constellation in the starscape, but he finds none. 

Davenport sighs. The faint glow of the moon is the only thing lighting up the deck, and the ship’s lights have switched to their night cycle. It’s late, and thinking under the stars isn’t helping. 

A few decades ago, he would’ve gone to his office and stewed. But Davenport’s changed as much as any of them on their journey, so he does what he always does now when he can’t sleep.

He goes to find his counterweight. 

* * *

Merle’s in the kitchen, nursing a mug of tea. Davenport doesn’t know why he’s still awake, but the cleric takes one look at his captain and sets the water heating for another cup. They don’t talk, and they don’t need to--Davenport simply grabs the deck of cards and starts shuffling it. It’s nearly too thick to shuffle properly, and the sizes of the cards are uneven from how many different decks they’ve added to the game, but the deck is familiar in his hands. Soon enough, Merle hands him a warm mug, Davenport murmurs a quiet word of thanks, and they begin. 

They’re silent, for the most part. Euchre is too complicated to allow for much talking during a hand. Frankly, its rules are bullshit and mostly made up on the spot, but Davenport likes to pretend the silence stems from strategy. Either way, though, the quiet is comfortable, though it still leaves him alone with his thoughts.

After a few minutes of playing, Davenport lays down his hand--the Lovers, the king of diamonds, and an Uno reverse card, a winning combination--and Merle takes one look at the first card and snorts. “That one’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” he says, and he starts reshuffling for another round. “Reminds me of a few people we know.”

The offhanded comment digs at him more than it should. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or frustration, or some unholy mix of both from decades of running that makes him snap, “It’s not _funny_ , this--there’s so many things wrong with all of this. This could ruin _everything_ , Merle, how--how are you so casual about all this?”

Merle shrugs. “Look at them, Dav. They’re happy. They’ll be even happier when they figure it all out.”

“I know they’re _happy_ , Merle, I’m not blind. But--you’ve been in love before, right? You know how these things can go. Everything’s fine one minute, but you make one mistake and everything just--shatters?”

Merle raises a bushy eyebrow at him. “Have _you_ , Dav?” 

Davenport stares him down. 

_Yes_ , he thinks bitterly. 

Merle continues, “Because you’re just lookin’ at the negative, and that’s just as dangerous.”

The mug of tea Merle made him sits untouched by his hand, and Davenport nearly knocks it over as he gestures wildly and says, “Let me be clear, I’m happy for both of them. They--all of you are family, Merle, but it’s so risky. If anything goes wrong, it won’t just be some teenage breakup. We’re stuck with each other whether we like it or not and they have to be able to work together, and I have half a mind to put a stop to this before it can even start.”

Merle scoffs, staring at his cards. “You’re sounding like John, Dav.”

Davenport tries not to flinch. 

“You’re worried about the mission,” Merle continues. “I get it. But you’re right--we’re stuck here whether we like it or not, and it sucks!” Merle laughs, tosses his cards down to gesture around them. The laughter rings just a little hollow. “We’re stuck together, and look where it got us--if the two of them can find love in a situation this shitty and keep it up for the last forty years, it’s gotta be quite the bond they have. Is a little risk worth getting in the way of something like that?”

“ _A little risk_ isn’t the way I’d put it,” the captain snaps back. “Worst case scenario, it ends badly and our two best researchers won’t talk to each other. And not only will that throw a wrench into figuring out the Light, but the rest of us will get caught in the middle. And--”

Merle cuts him off, holding his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay, I get it.” 

They lay down their hands. Merle’s Judgement, ace of spades, and The Fool faces off against Davenport’s hand of the queen of hearts, draw four, and The Tower--a close match, but Davenport’s victory again. The captain shuffles redeals another round in a silence much less comfortable than before. The moon outside the porthole is high in the sky. It must be past midnight now. 

The silence is a thick, heavy blanket over them, and the captain is starting to feel suffocated by it when Merle finally sighs and says, “Look. Sure, we’re stuck here. Yeah, we can’t avoid each other if anyone needs space. But look, Dav, we’re going to struggle whether you let this happen or not, and have you noticed how contagious joy is with the kids?”

Of course he’s noticed, he thinks. They’ve all had more than their fair share of bad nights. For the first few cycles, they would stew in their misery, and it was terrible. But as they got closer, their routine for the rough cycles changed; now, Lucretia makes tea or Magnus offers hugs or Lup offers only half-jokingly to blow up all their problems. Taako makes pancakes after the really bad nights. 

Davenport doesn’t let himself be down often. He’s their captain. It’s his job to lead them without flinching and bring them together in their worst moments. He can’t let his crew see weakness, so when he’s down, he locks himself in his cabin and stews. 

When he’s down, Merle stays with him. That only started in the last few cycles, and he’s the only one allowed to see Davenport at his lowest. They stay and sit in silence together until Davenport can smile again, and when they emerge the crew delves into antics with vigor until he does. The hurt lingers, but laughter’s never too far behind.

Nor is Merle’s easy, kind smile, on those days.

Davenport pushes the thought away and nods. He doesn’t trust his voice. 

“A stupid joke can bring the mood up with them,” Merle continues, “so think of what something like _this_ would do.”

(If Lup is happy, Taako is happy, because for all their squabbles, he loves his sister dearly. And if Barry is happy, Magnus is too, because he loves seeing the rest of them joyful, and his enthusiasm is so contagious that it buoys Lucretia up too, and Merle’s just _happy_ , so full of joy, and Davenport--) 

The captain grits his teeth and stares at his cards and pushes the thought back. _Yes_ , he thinks. _Joy is contagious_. “Maybe you’re right.”

The dwarf draws a card and says, “We’re gonna struggle whether shit hits the fan or not, Dav. But we’ve earned a little happiness, haven’t we? We have to fight, but we have to stand for something, and we definitely can’t be like John. If we don’t take the good and the bad as it comes, what are we even fighting for?”

He has a point, as much as Davenport hates to admit it. So he dodges the question with, “I thought you like John, Merle.”

“I do! But Pan above, he can be a drag sometimes.” Merle smiles his easy, infuriating smile, and the last few bits of tension evaporate from the air like morning mist in the bright sun. “I think I’m finally getting through, though. He didn’t kill me as quick last time.”

Davenport tries to meet Merle’s boisterous laugh with his own and falls miserably short. He wonders bitterly how long it’ll be until Merle goes into parley again, how long it’ll take this time before Merle vanishes like smoke.

He wonders how long he’ll be waiting before Merle comes back. How long he’ll have to wait to see that easy smile again. 

This is getting dangerous. 

It’s late, and they both have their separate duties in the morning. At least, that’s what he tells himself the reason is as Davenport abruptly throws down his cards, and suddenly he is exhausted--the feeling sinks into his bones, weighs his limbs down like lead. “It’s late,” he says, and he knows it’s a sudden shift. “We should get to sleep.”

Merle looks genuinely taken aback for the first time in this entire conversation. “You alright?” he asks, and his voice is full of concern. It’s not like him to cut a game short like this. 

“Yes,” Davenport replies, and they both know it’s a lie. 

But Merle doesn’t push it this time, thank the gods. Instead, he tosses his cards down as well, reaches for their mugs, and says, “You go get some rest, then. I’ll clean up.”

The captain smiles, and he hopes it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Thanks, Merle. Good night.”

Maybe at the beginning of their journey, Davenport would’ve considered the half-salute Merle throws his way mocking, but those have long since passed. “Night, cap’n. Don’t be too hard on the kids.”

“No promises,” he replies, but he knows Merle hears the smile in his voice. 

The ship is silent as he makes the short trek back to his cabin and unlocks the door. He doesn’t bother turning on the light as moonbeams streak through the cabin, backlit by the stars. He quietly puts his feelings about his and Merle's conversation aside, and Davenport thinks.

He thinks of the crew--that word doesn’t really do what they have justice, but neither does _family_ , really, because even that isn’t strong enough a word. He thinks of Barry and Lup, two of the six people who are more precious to him than anything else, and he thinks of the joy they will find--have found _already_ in each other. He thinks of Barry and how he’s grown in wild, grand new directions under Lup’s influence, how she draws him out of his shell in a way none of the rest of them really can. He thinks of Lup, wild and brash and kind as she is, and how Barry grounds her, gives her a place to simply be. 

(He thinks of Merle, because he knows giving someone a place to _be_ is a kind, radical, and precious act.)

He thinks of how these two members of his crew have grown, individually and together, through each other’s influence, and Davenport knows deep down this isn’t something he could put a stop to, even if he tried. Barry and Lup were set on a collision course the moment they boarded this ship fifty years ago, and there’s no halting it now. They’re tying the last knot of a bond strong enough to fly a ship through dimensions, a bond forged in fire and pain and tears and joy. 

The stars twinkle down at him through the porthole. They are unfamiliar, but they are kind. He finds his answer in the last moments before sleep takes him. 

Merle’s right, he thinks. Maybe this is a risk worth taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed watching The Dads having a late-night conversation about The Kids as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Also, a big thank you to my roommate for beta-reading this chapter. You're the best, dude.


	2. Magnus

Magnus hasn’t seen Lup or Barry in weeks. 

They’ve been busy. He gets it! He really does. But even though Lucretia’s been painting nonstop to practice for their presentation, she’s made time for him lately, and Taako’s happily been skipping out on conning his followers with stolen philosophy to catch up over lunch every so often. And it’s been good seeing both of them, but...

Something’s shifted. It’s slight, but with the crew, any change in the dynamics feels like an earthquake, and the entire crew’s been on edge since they landed on this plane. Magnus isn’t _blind_ , and he can guess what’s up, and maybe Taako told him Lup said she’d make a move this year. Finally.

Great! He’s happy for both of them, he really is. It’s half a century in the making, and the tension’s been killing all of them. But Lup and Barry have been spending so much time together this cycle that they hardly come back to the ship except to sleep, and he misses his best friends, and he’s gonna drag them to this dinner if it kills him. 

The Legato Conservatory is huge enough to make his head spin, and the music building is practically a maze, but he thinks he has the right hallway this time. Magnus takes a left around a corner and yep, there it is. This part of the campus is mostly silent by this time in the evening, save for a select few people doing last-minute preparation for their performances, but ringing through the halls is a heartachingly beautiful melody led by violin, piano trailing behind.

It sounds just like the fifty gods-damned years of longing he’s had to watch, all distilled into one song, so Magnus knows he’s going in the right direction.

As he walks down the hall, the melody gets louder, easier to follow. And okay, if he’s being honest, it’s very pleasant to listen to. Still needs some fine tuning, though, and he winces at a harmony so dissonant that the music stops altogether, and the quiet music is replaced by low voices. Well, they have months yet. Months to fine-tune the piece, and months to figure it all out if they haven’t already. 

Magnus follows the voices to the door. Knocking was never really a thing Magnus believed in in the first place, and by cycle twenty five the rest of them stopped bothering with it. (Lucretia still does, but she’s Lucretia, so Magnus gets it. Davenport still does too, but that’s him desperately trying to cling to whatever HR regulations he can. Magnus doesn’t get it, but it puts his captain at ease, so, whatever.)

And hell, maybe Magnus would’ve wished he knocked if he had any patience left with these two. But he doesn't, and he has to fight to not laugh at the scene before him. 

Lup’s draped over Barry, pencil in hand, probably to mark something on his sheet music spread out on the piano’s music stand, standing just a _little_ closer to him than strictly necessary. Barry, for his part, doesn’t look particularly uncomfortable with this. Far from it, despite the deep blush on his face--he’s got an arm around Lup’s hips to steady her. Both their eyes are trained on the sheet music as the discuss the corrections Lup's making in low voices. It looks natural. Easy. 

Well, it does until they notice the door opening. And Magnus does almost laugh, because these two are his best friends, two of the smartest people in the multiverse, and incredibly skilled mages to boot--but their matching wide eyes and Barry’s absolutely _furious_ blush make them look like cadets caught in the broom closet. 

To be fair, Magnus has walked in on worse things on the ship. 

Magnus flashes them a wide smile. They both seem to come to their senses and spring apart at that, though neither of them look particularly happy about it. Magnus draws to his full (and pretty damn impressive) height, looks the two of them over, and says in his best Security Officer voice, “Taako’s making spaghetti for dinner. Lup, he says this is a job for two and he doesn’t trust me within twenty feet of the kitchen. Barry, Lucretia wants to talk with you. It’s something about science, don’t ask me. Also, I haven’t seen either of you in weeks, so you get five minutes to pack up before I drag you to the ship myself.”

Lup coughs. “Yeah,” she says, and, wait, is she actually _blushing_? Magnus grins. Taako’s hearing about that for sure. “Yeah, Mags, we’ll be ready in a few.”

“Four minutes and fifty-three seconds now,” Magnus replies and leaves the room, because as amusing as the tension is, it’s starting to get uncomfortable even for him.

It only takes three and a half minutes (he counted) for them to emerge from the practice room. Lup’s got her violin case in one hand and sheet music dangles from the other. Barry’s still blushing as he locks the door behind them. Great. Awesome. “C’mon,” Magnus says, and he grabs Lup by the arm and Barry by the hand and starts dragging them down the hallway. 

Barry looks incredibly sheepish, but Lup looks pissed the fuck off. That sort of indignation used to be terrifying, but it lost its bite a long time ago, and now it’s just hilarious. Maybe Magnus interrupted a moment, but they’ll have other chances. It’s looking pretty inevitable at this point.

If Magnus could hear the love and longing ingrained in their song, he thinks as he half-leads, half-drags them down the hallway, then they should be able to too. Maybe they just need to listen.

* * *

Taako’s stirring pasta sauce in the kitchen when they get back, and Magnus sees his ears perk up when they come in. “Thank god,” Taako groans, taking off his apron. “Lulu, you’re on pasta duty, I’m _out_.”

Lup scowls at him when he holds the apron out to her, still clutching her violin case. “Magnus said this was a two-person job.”

“Yeah, and I’m done with mine. I’ve been cooking for these boners for _weeks_ , it’s time you pull your own weight.”

His sister sneers and snatches the apron from him. “This ship is a fucking nightmare,” she groans. She sets the violin case down next to the couch delicately (a contrast to the rest of her attitude), slings the apron over her head, and starts pulling out ingredients for fresh pasta.

“I, uh, I’m gonna go see what Lucy wants,” Barry says to no one in particular and scampers off.

Taako snorts, draping himself on the common room couch. “Amateurs,” he says, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Look at them, the morons. Still same old, same old with them?”

Magnus plonks on the couch next to him. “No change to report.” He says it the same way he talked to Davenport at the beginning of their journey, before professionalism broke down half a cycle in and he decided to go fight a bear. Ah, memories. “They’re pretty dumb, aren’t they?”

“Like, _super_ dumb.”

“ _I can still fucking hear you_!” Lup yells from the kitchen. Taako rolls his eyes.

It’s only the three of them in the common room, Magnus thinks, and there’s little to no chance of anyone overhearing this conversation and making a scene. He grins. No harm in poking a little fun. 

“They were all over each other in the practice room, you should’ve seen it,” he says with as much drama as he can muster. “Who knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t walked in when I did?”

Taako catches onto what they’re doing pretty much instantly, and he dramatically gasps, eyes going wide, sitting up straighter, looking the part of completely stunned, but his hand covers his mouth to hide the enormous, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “You mean our dearest friend Barold touched hands with my _sister_? The betrayal!”

“It was pretty gross.”

“Inappropriate. Unbelievable. I’m complaining to the manager.”

“I don’t think Davenport wants to hear anything about it,” he replies, and Taako cackles. Magnus can practically feel Lup’s fury radiating out of the kitchen like heat from a bonfire, and he quietly hopes she’s taking it out on the pasta dough. 

“Don’t overknead the dough, goofus!” Taako yells across the room. 

“You can’t overknead pasta, dingus!” Lup screeches back. 

“Also.” Taako turns towards Magnus, suddenly dead serious. “Don’t fucking imply my sister is boning the nerd. Gee, Mags, grossaroonie.”

Magnus shrugs. “I just hope they do something about the tension. I’m tired of it.”

Taako throws his hands up into the air. “I’m tired of hearing about it! Ch’boy can only hear so much _Oh Taako, what am I supposed to do? I don’t think my feelings are returned and I’m going to angst to you about it instead of solving my own problems_ before I go fucking insane.”

Magnus opens his mouth to reply, but a white cloth blur flies out of the kitchen and smacks Taako straight across the face with a loud fwump. Taako sputters, and peels the projectile off of him--a balled-up apron. Lup nonchalantly sets a bowl on the counter and struts into the common room. “Dough’s done,” she says casually. Like she didn’t just nail her brother in the face with an apron.

“ _You’re_ done!” Taako screeches, tossing the apron aside, grabbing the nearest couch cushion, and vaulting across the room to take a swipe at her. He smacks her dead in the face and Lup reels, snatching a throw pillow and getting her brother dead in the chest, and the twins begin to blur into one flurry of cushions and limbs. 

“Uh, what’s going on out here?” Barry asks, walking out of the lab, trailed by Lucretia, taking in the twins screeching at each other.

Magnus shrugs. “No clue,” he lies, because he knows both twins are too occupied to call him out on instigating this. So he picks up a pillow, marches over to the two of them, and whacks Taako in the face with it--only at eight percent strength, Magnus doesn’t want to _kill_ the elf.

Taako squawks indignantly and turns his aim towards Magnus, nailing him in the face with a well-placed swing, and Magnus retaliates, clipping him in the shoulder, and then Lup takes the distraction to bash her brother over the head, and the whole thing quickly devolves into chaos. The last thing Magnus sees before his vision is completely filled with flying cushions, limbs, and feathers is Barry and Lucretia turning to each other, grinning, and each grabbing their own makeshift weapons to join the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite everything this week threw at me, I'm on time somehow! Another big thank you to my roommate for beta reading the ending to this chapter. 
> 
> Magnus is easily the character I struggle writing the most, and I'm an only child who doesn't know how to write siblings. Naturally, I thought including the twins in the Magnus chapter would be a fantastic idea. In all seriousness, I hope I did them all justice.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!


	3. Merle

The kids are up to something.

Well, the kids are always up to _something_. Hardly a week goes by without at least one _something_ on the ship, and it’s usually started by the twins or Magnus. It also usually involves giving Dav grey hairs three months into a cycle, but that’s neither here nor there. 

What’s drawn Merle’s attention this time, though, is big--bigger than any single shenanigan that the three of them combined could ever dream up on their own, and way more serious. It has the potential to upset the dynamic that the crew has carefully cultivated over the last fifty years, or even damage it permanently if it goes wrong.

Well, that’s why Dav’s worried, anyway. Merle doesn't think it's that big a deal. There are three major facts he’s drawn on to come to this conclusion:

One, Merle has been stuck with these people for a decent chunk of time. He knows their tells and can read them all like books if he puts his mind to it. 

Two, he’s been in love before--he can tell if it's the real deal or not when he sees it, and this is real as anything. 

And three, he’s not a Pan-damned idiot. Anyone with half a brain can see what’s going on here, and he and the rest of the crew are no exception.

All of this has become just another fact universally accepted among the crew, as obvious as the sun in the sky--Lucretia is the shyest of the seven of them. Magnus can and will forcibly carry anyone to bed if they’re not sleeping enough. Davenport makes the best coffee. Barry and Lup have been in love for most of their journey. Simple as that.

It’s not something any of them really talk about a lot, and Merle isn’t much for gossip anyway, so he’s happy to let the two of them figure it all out on their own. These things take time, and they’re lucky that time is one thing they all have in abundance right now. Letting them sort it out completely on their own would be ideal, but he has a feeling that one of them in particular needs a nudge, and he’s more than happy to provide.

The Legato Conservatory’s gardens are grand and picturesque, encased in a massive dome of glass to keep the bugs and the cold, dry winds out. Most of the species in this little bubble look tropical, in contrast to the chill of autumn outside. Some of the plants cultivated here even resemble ones that Merle knows from their home plane, and the ones he doesn’t recognize are beautiful in their own right.

But Merle’s not here to admire the Conservatory’s gardens. He’s here to play a game of chess.

“Check.”

“Ah, damn,” Barry says, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve gotten better at this.”

Merle hasn’t, not really. Barry handily won their last match at the start of this cycle, and neither of them have been playing a lot since then. The problem is that Barry is way too distracted to play properly, because this game of chess is the absolute last thing on his mind.

But pointing that out will just make Barry clam up, so Merle replies, “Yeah, well, playing chess with the apocalypse will do that to ya.”

Barry snorts and slides his rook forward. Definitely distracted--there were a billion better moves he could’ve taken there. Merle counters without too much thought. 

The air is thick and muggy and still in spite of the autumnal chill outside the greenhouse’s walls. The leaves of the trees stretching above them don’t rustle with a soft breeze. The cobblestone their chess table rests on stretches in uniform paths away from this clearing and through the gardens, neat stone bordering uniform, well-kept patches of greenery. It’s all so sterile, and Merle hates the neatness of it more with every second he spends in this glass dome. 

Barry must notice him looking at the preserved nature all around them, because he says, “Y’know, Merle, I would’ve pegged you to go for, I dunno, something to do with plants? Legato’s flower arrangements are famous, from what I hear.”

Merle scoffs and moves a knight to take Barry’s second bishop. “Nah, not my speed. I prefer nature as is, y’know? Prettying it all up defeats the point.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” says Barry. “We’re all branching out a little.”

“Never a bad thing to go out of your comfort zone,” Merle agrees. Barry’s easy to read even at the best of times, but as he speaks, Merle sees him absentmindedly fingering piano chords against the edge of the chess table. So he presses: “How’s music going for ya? I heard you and Lup are up to something.”

That hits some sort of nerve. Barry slips up a little more, slides his rook to the left to take Merle’s pawn when moving his knight back would’ve been the smarter move. “It--it’s going good. Lup and I finished writing the piece we’re gonna play, but there’s a lot of tweaking and rehearsing to be done before it’s ready. We’ll be working together a lot this cycle, I guess.”

“You’re always cooped up in the lab together, though,” Merle replies, and moves a knight forward. “Not much changed, right? Check, by the way.”

“Y-Yeah,” Barry says, and moves his king out of danger behind one of his few remaining pawns. “I guess we are, but that’s, that’s our job, I guess? Well, this is our job too, this cycle, but…”

He’s blushing now, and Merle knows he’s caught on to what’s going on here. The guy looks dejected, though. Merle feels kind of bad for pushing him like this, but for decades he’s watched Barry live under the delusion that his feelings are hopeless. Anyone on the crew could tell him they’re anything but. 

Instead of responding or making a move, Merle looks away from their board again. There’s a beautiful flower blooming just off the pathway, about the size of Merle’s palm with slender, pointed petals that start a deep orange at the tips but fade to golden near the stamen. It’s a species he’s seen many times before on previous visits, but now it gives him an idea. 

“Barry,” Merle begins without taking his eyes off the flower, “Do you know why I don’t like flower arranging?”

“Please don’t say it’s because you can’t fuck dead plants.”

Merle bursts out laughing. “Nah, nah, that’s not it.” He points to the blossom he’s had his eye on. “Look at that one. Beautiful, right?” Barry nods, still looking a little sheepish, and he continues, “It’s a species that’s real popular in flower arrangements here. I’ve been to this garden a couple times, and from what I can tell, this species blooms for months at a time, changing color as it grows. It’s probably such an aggressive species that it sucks all the nutrients from the soil, if I had to guess.”

Barry wrinkles his nose. “That’d, uh, that’d line up with all the fertilizer they’ve been dumping on it, judging by the smell.”

Merle beams. “Exactly! When I came here a few weeks back, this particular flower was a really pale yellow. Kinda blotchy, too. But give it a few weeks, and it grew into this--and soon it’s gonna be cut and used for an arrangement.”

Then Merle rises from his seat at the table without bothering to push his chair in. He plods off the path and into the garden, pointedly ignoring the sign loudly declaring, “KEEP OFF GRASS,” and ventures further into the flower bush. He can feel Barry’s eyes following him as he ducks under a branch, pushing another aside to avoid being smacked in the face. He finds what he’s looking for quickly and plucks it with deft, practiced fingers, cradling the plant in his hands as he makes his way back to the chess table. 

Merle slides back into his seat and delicately lays his prize across the table. “Now look at this one.”

It’s another blossom of the same species, with a bright yellow center fading into a deep orange ring further along the petals--except this one is different. It’s big, wider than Merle’s whole hand, for one, but the colors are different, too, richer--the orange blends into a deep pink, then crimson, and then, finally, a rich violet towards the tips. It’s beautiful--just like a sunset, despite the small brown spots littering one of the petals. 

Barry cranes his neck to get a better angle, and Merle smiles. Of course Barry would love a science lesson. “This one’s damaged--see the brown spots?” He points, and Barry nods, so he continues, “Apparently in arranging here they only want flawless flowers, so they didn’t pick this one. But see the purple around the edges? That takes months to develop, and this species is delicate, so they usually cut it after just a few weeks and take it with the just the yellow and orange, so it doesn’t get spotted or wilt.” He picks a stray leaf from the bush out of his hair. “If they just wait, they might get a flawless flower with the pink ring, and maybe even the red and purple too. But they always cut it early, ‘cause they think just the orange and the gold is the best they’re gonna get.”

Barry goes quiet, eyes locked, unseeing, on the flower in front of him. Merle strokes his beard, brushes another few leaves out, and continues, “They’ve gotta just let the growth happen, Barry. Let themselves hope, instead of just taking the best they think they’ll ever get. Because nine times outta ten, what comes with letting things grow are ten times better than what you get when you cut yourself off and don’t hope at all. Don’tcha think?”

Barry’s smiling as he talks. It’s a smile Merle’s seen before, in quiet moments when he’s staring at Lup and thinks no one’s going to notice. It’s soft and sad and laced with quiet acceptance, but it’s a little different this time--there’s a little hope in there. He laughs and shakes his head. “Merle, is that a metaphor?”

“Maybe.” Merle grins. “I also don’t like arranging because dead plants aren’t a lotta fun to _smooch_.”

The smile on Barry’s face vanishes immediately, replaced by abject horror, and Merle laughs. The flash of humor fades as quickly as it came, though, and Merle knows his message got across.

“It’s tough to hope, Barry.” Merle pushes the flower towards him. “Hope anyway.”

Barry takes the flower, twirls it between his fingers, and stares at it, lost in thought. There’s a little more hope in his eyes now. It was always there, Merle thinks. Just needed a bit of coaxing. “Maybe you’re right. Thanks, Merle--ah, shit,” he cuts himself off, just as the cleric says, “Checkmate, by the way. One more game?”

Barry laughs and rests the flower in his lap. “Sure. Let’s see if I can play half-decent this time.”

They stay in the garden for several hours, playing and talking and laughing. By the time they part, the sun is setting, its golden light streaming into the greenhouse and setting the entire garden ablaze. Barry waves his goodbyes with an agreement to meet again next week to play another game. 

He takes the flower with him. Merle knows he’ll give it a good home. 

After Barry leaves, Merle stays in the garden. He moves to the edge of the glass dome and lays his hand on the glass, feeling the evening autumn chill seeping through it. He stands and watches the sunset, as the sky fades from golden, to orange, to pink, to crimson and purple, to a deep blue. 

As the first stars shyly blink into being overhead, he knows the kids will be okay.

All they’ve ever needed is time, and they’re lucky to have plenty of that--but a little pep talk never hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this house we love Merle Highchurch. (Can you tell he's my favorite lmao)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and thank you very much for reading! Also, a huge thank you to everyone who's left comments and kudos so far! Every time I get notifications from y'all it puts a huge smile on my face. I really appreciate the feedback and encouragement so far, it encourages me to keep my schedule steady.
> 
> Next up is Lucretia! Not to spoil anything, but her chapter's gonna have some ~girl talk~ so that'll be a blast. Assuming all goes to plan, it'll be up a week from today.


	4. Lucretia

There’s something so rhythmic about writing that puts Lucretia’s mind at ease. The familiar, hollow scratch of pen on paper, interrupted every few lines by a pause, a click of the pen on the edge of the inkwell. Putting their experiences, or just her own thoughts and worries, into writing. Making something beautiful out of all of it. Turning the danger they face into drafts, and using the details to make it a narrative. She writes, and whatever they’ve faced, no matter how horrific, becomes a little more rational. 

Lucretia’s fairly certain she’s the only one awake tonight, and the ship is quiet and still. The lights of the ship have been set to the night cycle for hours, and the candle she reads by flickers, casting long shadows along the wall. She pauses in her writing to dip her quill in ink, and the clink of quill against glass breaks the silence of her cabin. She’s writing in her personal journal tonight, one she keeps for herself. She doesn’t update it as much as the official records, but getting her thoughts out helps tame the ball of anxiety knotting in the pit of her stomach.

They all present their works to the Light tomorrow, and Lucretia prays hers is good enough. 

It’s a little past midnight when Lucretia hears someone shuffling down the hall past her door, and she pauses in her writing. Apparently she’s not the only one awake. She listens closely as the footsteps fade down the hall. 

After a few minutes, they return, going back towards the other cabins, and she pauses again and listens closely. The footfalls are too light to be those of Magnus or Barry, too heavy to be Davenport’s. They stop in the hallway, and Lucretia hears whoever it is sigh heavily. Then the footsteps double back down the hall once more, and Lucretia hears the door to the deck open and shut, leaving the ship silent once more. 

Whoever it is, they seem about as anxious as Lucretia feels, and that narrows her options down further. It’s not Merle, certainly--she doubts their cleric has ever felt shame in his life, so he’s probably not losing sleep over stage fright. That narrows it down to Taako or Lup. 

Given that one of the twins has much more of a reason to be nervous about tomorrow than the other, she can hazard a guess as to who it is. 

Lucretia thinks it over, and then she puts down her quill, shuts her journal, and blows out the lone candle lighting the room. She pauses for a moment to watch the wisps of smoke curl towards the ceiling, cast in the light of the moon streaming through the window, before she rises and opens her door as quietly as she can manage. The halls of the ship are silent save for her light footsteps. She pauses in the common, with her hand on the door of the deck, but she retreats and turns instead to the kitchen. 

Whenever she has trouble sleeping, Merle makes her tea. She never asks him too, but on the nights she stays up, locked in her cabin and writing, she’s often interrupted by a quiet knock on the door, a mug of chamomile tea, and a kind smile. It’s just a small act, but Lucretia always thinks it’s comforting just to know someone cares. Time to pass it forwards, she thinks. She steals Taako’s favorite food tray, sets water boiling for tea, and gets to work. 

Five minutes later, she grabs two mugs from the cupboards to place next to a plate of cookies. The tea’s steeped, curls of steam rising from the spout of the teapot, and she gathers it all up onto the tray. She balances the whole thing with one hand and pushes open the door to the deck with the other. 

The stars stretch out above her, but large swaths of them are gone now, with less than two weeks before the Hunger arrives. Lucretia can see the mountain in the distance, the place they’ll all present their work, illuminated by the pale light of the moon. The thought of the ceremony at the base of it tomorrow frightens her, but looking at it now, the mountain seems gentler. Maybe even kind.

And leaning on the railing of the deck, silhouetted against the mountain in front of her, is Lup, head craned up, watching the stars. As the door closes again behind her, Lucretia sees one of her ears twitch, and the elf turns towards her with a hopeful smile, like she’s expecting someone. Then her face falls, just for a moment, when she sees who it is. The flash of disappointment is gone as soon as it comes. Lucretia wouldn’t have noticed the shift at all if she hadn’t known Lup for decades now. 

For a long moment, they simply stare each other down, until Lucretia says, “Um...I brought snacks.” Her voice, tinged with nerves, resounds in the chill night air. “Want to talk about--I don’t know. Stuff?”

Lup looks her up and down, and her eyes land on the plate of chocolate-covered cookies Lucretia knows are her favorite. “Stuff sounds good,” Lup agrees, walking towards her, and she pushes past Lucretia, back into the common room. “But if we’re doing this,” she says with a grin, “Let’s go all-out.”

Five minutes later, the clink of their mugs together breaks the night’s quiet. The tea is flavorful and just a touch bitter, and just the right temperature to warm her without scalding her tongue. Lucretia pulls her blanket further around her and adjusts on the couch cushion she’s sitting on, both stolen from the common room. She’s cradling her mug in both hands. Between the blanket and the tea, it’s just enough to fend off the mid-spring chill in the air. 

For a long moment, the only two women against eternity sit in silence under the stars made patchwork by the Hunger. 

Lup reaches over, takes a cookie, and bites into it, melting a little with a pleased hum. “Dang, you pulled out all the stops,” she says through a mouthful of crumbs. “What’s the occasion?”

Lucretia shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.” She reaches for a cookie. “I keep thinking about whether or not to make a few last-minute touch-ups. I think we’re just all on-edge about tomorrow.”

Lup groans and throws her head back theatrically. “Tell me about it. Barry and I rehearsed so much this last week, I’m gonna need this reset just to feel my fingers again.”

“Well,” Lucretia says, “I haven’t heard all of your piece, Lup, but if the bits I’ve heard are anything to go by, you’re going to be great. Both of you.”

“Yeah,” Lup agrees, but she’s distracted, staring blankly into the mug cradled in her hands. “I just--our instructor told us _yesterday_ that we need to fix a bunch of shit, and I can tell Barry’s trying not to be nervous for my sake but he’s shit at hiding it, and that makes _me_ nervous, and when I get nervous I rush ahead like crazy, and Barry’s good at following my lead, but he can’t read my mind, and--”

“Lup,” Lucretia cuts her off. “You’re going to be fine. You’re sounding like Barry.”

Lup muts realize she’s ranting and halts, the tips of her ears going red as she makes a face. “Ugh, I knew I’ve been spending too much time with him. What a nerd,” she says. Right now, in this moment, framed against the mountain, Lucretia thinks she’d make a good profile study--face turned to the stars, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Lup’s expression is edging on unreadable, but she can see a few emotions there--uncertainty, worry, pensiveness, hope. Lucretia wishes she had her journal to sketch it out. 

It’s late, and the tea might be making her drowsy, because Lucretia’s starting to feel a pull in the back of her eyes, gently suggesting a few hours of sleep. Lup must be feeling too, because her next words seem to tumble out of her mouth like they’re unintended, like all her walls are down, like they’re the result of a slip in her outward confidence.

Her voice is soft and sad and edged with exhaustion when she says, “I love him, Luce.”

They both know that. 

But it’s still a surprise to have the words in the air, out in the open, plain and unhidden. 

“I know,” Lucretia replies. 

“Like, _fuck_ ,” Lup says, dragging her free hand down her face, and suddenly she looks tired, very tired, like thirty-odd years of hiding and dodging and quieting her feelings just hit her all at once. “I _love_ him. I--I’ve never felt this way about anyone, not like this. Me and Taako, we--we don’t do feelings, you know that.” Lup swallows, and Lucretia stays silent, because this is rare and she doesn’t want to break whatever spell that made Lup talk. “But Barry’s been at it so hard the last few months, and I--I don’t want to let him down.”

“You won’t,” comes the automatic reply, because it’s the obvious answer to her concern. “I don’t think you _could_ at this point, Lup.”

Lup sighs heavily. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Lup drains her mug. She makes a face as the bitter taste of the tea leaves settled in her cup hits her tongue. “Thanks,” she says after a moment. “I usually don’t feelings-dump like that, and when I do, it’s on Taako, so.”

“Anytime,” Lucretia assures with a smile. “You can always talk to me, or any of us. What else are crewmates for?”

Lup snorts. “Helping me annoy my brother, duh.”

“You don’t need much help with that, I think.”

They drift between conversation and comfortable silence for a long while, and before Lucretia knows it, the moon is half-set, and all that’s left on the tray are two long-cold mugs, a teapot with only dregs at the bottom, and a plate of crumbs. Lucretia’s yawns get more frequent as time ticks away, and her responses get shorter and shorter, and Lup gently suggests they pack it in for the night.

“It’s gonna be good, Luce,” Lup says as she gathers up the blankets they’d spread out on the deck. “If Magno can submit a duck, you’ll be fine. You’re gonna kill it.”

Lucretia grins. “What do musicians say again? Break a string?”

“Something like that.” Lup smiles back at her, but she makes a face when she grabs the last blanket. “Wait, what the--”

She holds it out in front of her and shakes it, and something falls onto the deck with a loud clatter. Lucretia squints and leans down to see it properly in the dim light. Sitting on the deck is a small wooden duck, carved with gentle, slightly clumsy hands. Its edges are rough, and two little beady eyes set a little too shallowly in its face stare up at her. 

“Dammit, these things get _everywhere_ ,” Lup complains. “How many of these things did Magnus even _make_?”

“I have five in my cabin,” Lucretia replies, recalling the ducks sitting on her shelf, lined up in a neat row from oldest to newest. “I’m sure he’ll give you a few if you ask nicely.”

“Uh, I'm _good_ ,” Lup says, and they both laugh. “But seriously, Luce, you’re gonna do great.”

“You will too,” Lucretia replies. “But, um, I do have to ask.”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to tell him tomorrow?”

Lup sputters for a moment, then rolls her eyes so theatrically her head lolls around her neck as she bunches up the blankets and couch cushions under her arm. “ _Ugh_ , get off my _ass_. You’re as bad as Taako.”

Lucretia raises an eyebrow at her. “That’s not an answer.”

Lup points an accusing finger at her as she heads towards the door, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’ve been hanging out with Magnus and Taako too much, Luce,” she says.

And maybe that’s true. So naturally, Lucretia takes the opportunity to borrow a page from the boys’ books and demurely, nonchalantly steps in front of the door to the deck, blocking Lup’s path casually with just enough self control to make sure she doesn’t grin. “Maybe so.”

Lup groans theatrically and tries to shove past her. “You’re the fucking worst, you know that?”

“Sure.” Lucretia tries not to make it obvious that she has to dig her heels into the floor of the deck to prevent Lup from shoving past her. “But you’re not getting past here until you talk.”

“I’m retracting your girl talk privileges,” Lup snaps, trying to reach around her to snatch at the door handle. “No more emotional vulnerability with you. Betrayed by my only ally on this ship full of _boys_.” 

Lucretia bites her lip to try not to giggle, and Lup takes her distraction as a window to lunge forward. Lucretia yelps and tries to move back in the way with a strained, “No you don’t!” but Lup’s already got her hand on the door handle, and the elf shoulder-checks her out of the way, dashing through the now-open door before Lucretia can react. 

Lucretia nearly doubles over laughing at it all as Lup unceremoniously dumps all the cushions and blankets in a heap on the couch and makes off towards the hallway to her cabin. Lucretia follows her through the door and sets the tray on the counter and, perhaps a little more loudly than she should, given everyone’s sleeping, calls out, “You’d better tell him soon, or Taako’s going to go crazy!”

She laughs again as Lup, speed-walking down the hallway, doesn’t even bother turning back to face her, and, still retreating, throws back dual middle fingers in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I thought was going to be the shortest chapter of this fic ended up becoming the longest by far. But hey, sometimes you've just gotta write girl talk.
> 
> Last up is Taako, and that chapter should be up on Sunday of next week! Thank you once again for reading, and a special thank you to everyone who's left comments and kudos so far! I don't reply to all of the comments I get, but I read each and every one, and they really make my day.
> 
> By the way, I have a tumblr now! Find me at [@memoryandmoonstone.tumblr.com](https://memoryandmoonstone.tumblr.com)


	5. Taako

They’ve lost Legato. 

There’s still a week left, but Taako’s pretty fucking convinced at this point. Magnus woke everyone up last night to tell them what they’ve been working for the entire year is just...not there. The “light of creation” they’ve been hearing about from Chancellor what’s-her-face isn’t actually The Light of Creation, and the Hunger comes in ten days. 

As soon as the impromptu, one-in-the-morning briefing was through and they agreed to start their search in the morning, Davenport locked himself in his office. He hasn’t come out yet, despite Merle’s best efforts. Magnus and Lucretia went off to get some sleep before they start the search, but Taako doubts they managed to get much rest. The only people who didn’t seem particularly bummed about all this are Lup and Barry, who ran off together shortly after their debrief, and Taako, frankly, doesn’t want to know what they’re up to. 

Taako himself doesn’t really care they’ve lost this one, to be honest. Everyone important is on this ship already. But everyone else is torn up about it, so Taako does what he does after most bad nights--he jots down a shopping list, grabs a basket, and goes to the market to get supplies for pancakes. 

The suns rise early here--this plane has two suns, just like their home plane, and the first one comes up around five in the morning. It’s just barely peeking over the mountain when Taako arrives at the square with the little farmer’s market he found with Lup a few months back. He walks through the market, quickly taking stock of his options; it seems to have a decent spread today, despite the early hour. Fresh fruits, eggs straight from the hen. The market smells like fresh bread and morning dew, the air still chilly enough from the night that he pulls the jacket he threw on further around his shoulders. 

Taako pauses under a tree at the edge of the square to look around, taking in the scene before him. He sees the sun rising over the mountain, chasing away grey twilight with pale gold dawn. He hears the chirp of birds, the quiet murmur of the farmer’s market and the city waking up. He smells the pastries fresh out of the oven, feels the gentle breeze through his hair. 

In a few days, this little square will be less than dust. It’s so inevitable that it might as well be gone already. 

It doesn’t matter. The six important people are already on the Starblaster.

(Taako will not think of his followers at the Conservatory.)

He’s got a pretty short grocery list, all things considered. Fresh eggs, milk, butter. Fruit, if he can find things similar to the crews’ favorites. If not, he can transmute them, but fresh ingredients always taste better. They’ve got the rest of the basics back on the ship, so he really doesn’t need to take his time here. But the old lady he buys a dozen eggs from has set up shop next to a guy selling pastries, and so Taako decides to splurge a little on himself. 

He takes one bite of the muffin he picks up from the stall and almost chokes. It’s way too dry--Lup’s are ten times better. Good to know they won’t be losing a decent recipe when this world goes to hell. 

Few worlds have produce exactly like what they had on their home plane, but after years on the road and decades on the run, Taako’s fucking fantastic at improvising. A citrus-like fruit that grows here (he doesn’t bother remembering the name) has the tartness of an orange, so he picks up a dozen for mimosas. They’ve already got something like blueberries, and Taako can transmute walnuts, easy. Nearly every inhabited plane they’ve found has something like chocolate, and this one is no exception, so he grabs some of that too, since chocolate chip pancakes are Magnus’ favorite. 

It’s nearly six by the time Taako makes it back to the Starblaster, and the sky is starting to brighten further as the second sun comes up. The crew’s definitely going to be waking up soon, so Taako sets down the basket, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work.

* * *

Magnus is up first, half an hour later. His hair is damp from the shower, and Taako wordlessly slides a plate of chocolate chip pancakes down the counter and points to the pitcher of mimosas on the common room table, still being stirred by a Mage Hand he summoned. Magnus is quiet--too quiet--as he murmurs a thanks and takes his plate. 

Davenport emerges next, lured from his office by the smell of fresh coffee that Taako just finished brewing. He settles at the table, holding his mug just a bit too tight. He’s the only one of them who doesn’t like pancakes, and the look on his face tells Taako not to push anything else on him right now. 

Merle comes out a few minutes later, grabs a plate, and sit quietly at the table. But then he pours himself a cup of coffee, takes one sip, and yells into the kitchen, “Dav’s is still better!” 

“Sorry for making it fucking drinkable, old man,” Taako calls back. He has absolutely no idea why Merle prefers Davenport’s caffeine sludge over his coffee, but when he looks over, he sees their captain fighting back a small smile, and he decides not to push the point further.

There are still dark circles under Lucretia’s eyes when she emerges from her cabin. She gently sets her journal on the table and makes to get up, but Taako swoops in and sets a tall stack of blueberry pancakes in front of her with a dramatic flourish. She smiles at him, tinged with exhaustion, and she opens her journal and gets to work. 

Barry and Lup are the last to join them, a little before seven. They’re holding hands, and Lup has a massive, smug grin on her face. “Mornin’,” Magnus says through a mouthful of pancakes. Barry waves awkwardly with the hand not currently being commandeered by Lup, and she pulls him to sit down next to her at the table.

And no one misses the denim jacket draped over Lup’s small frame. Taako rolls his eyes, because this isn’t an instance of unintentional clothes-osmosis, like how most of the crew has at least one Magnus Shirt in their closet by now. No, this is intentional burglary, judging by how she’s pulling it further around herself, smiling as she sinks into it. Barry looks over, sees this, and blushes. Gross. 

Taako rolls his eyes and flips the pancake he’s making onto a plate and sets it in front of Barry--he likes banana nut pancakes, which is a gross and awful choice, but, well. The nerd makes Lup happy, so Taako guesses he’ll give Barold his shitty pancakes. 

As soon as the last helpings are done and the bowl of batter is scraped clean, Taako turns off the stove, passes the last plate to Lup, and settles down at the table with his own meal.

It’s quiet. It always is after the bad nights. No one’s really making noise, save for the soft clink of silverware on plates, soft murmurs between those among them who can’t bear to have things be totally quiet. 

But, slowly, the table comes to life. 

It starts with Lup reaching across the table to swipe her fork across a gooey patch of chocolate on Magnus’ plate, and he yelps and yanks the plate away. But she lunges forward, leaning half across the table (and over a furiously blushing Barry’s lap) and manages to swipe up a blob of gooey chocolate and shove it in her face with a self-satisfied smile. Magnus glares at her.

Merle laughs quietly around a sip of coffee. “Guys, settle down, no shenanigans at the dinner table. You’re botherin’ Barry.”

Lucretia barely looks up from her writing to say, quietly enough that Taako almost doesn’t hear her, “I don’t know if ‘bothering’ is the right term here.”

The table falls completely silent and everyone turns to look at her. She raises her head from a journal to take a sip of her mimosa, eyebrow raised. “What?”

Then Magnus starts laughing. 

“Oh, thank God,” he says. “Are we allowed to joke about it now?”

Lup glares at him. “That did _not_ stop you before.”

“Yeah, but now I can joke about it in front of _both_ of you!”

“It’s more efficient,” Lucretia adds, and Magnus high-fives her. Barry's face looks like it's on fire. 

Taako points his fork at Lup. “And you’d better fuckin’ believe it, Lulu. If I had to hear both of you whine and moan for the last _thirty years_ , we get to give you shit now. We fuckin’ earned this one.”

Lup opens her mouth to reply, but Barry cuts her off. “Wait, are you telling me,” he says, turning to face her, “that you--”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence, babe--”

Barry’s grin is wicked. “Lup, you had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing.”

Lup buries her face in her hands. “I am already regretting this. Barely thirty-six hours, Barold, and I’m already at the end of my rope.” 

“If you two break up,” Magnus asks, “won’t you have to give the jacket back?”

Lup drops her hands, still pouting, and pulls the jacket a little tighter around her. “Nope,” she says. “Mine forever now.”

Barry gives her a doofy, lovestruck grin and kisses her on the cheek. Taako assumes it’s to make up for the dad joke. “Yep.” His voice is so sweet it makes Taako want to fucking gag. “Yours forever.”

“ _Barold_ ,” Taako says. “Do _not_ get your cheesy bullshit on my dinner table. I will blast your shitty pancakes into oblivion, I give no shits.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Barry replies absently, just before he’s cut off with a happy hum as Lup kisses him on the lips, rewarding that sort of stupid behavior, and Taako does actually gag this time.

“Tone it down,” Merle barks. “There are kids at the table!”

Davenport, silent for most of the conversation, pipes up with, “I--Merle, I’ve literally walked in on you dirty-talking a cactus. You have no right.”

“Wasn’t in front of the kids,” Merle replies without a lick of shame, and that gets all of them laughing.

Magnus gestures between their cleric and captain. “Glass house,” he says, “Meet bricks.”

Taako nearly chokes on his sip of mimosa. “You dumb piece of shit! That’s not how that phrase fuckin’ goes, goofus!”

“Yeah it is, we talked about this already! And Luce said I was right!”

“Hm,” Lup hums from where she’s draped across Barry’s shoulder. “But did Luce write it down?”

Six pairs of eyes turn to Lucretia, who snaps her journal shut with a grimace. “I definitely did not,” she says, “Because, Magnus, you’re so wrong. So…. _unspeakably_ wrong. That is, in fact, _not_ how that goes.”

“See?” Lup says. “Journal or it didn’t happen, Magno.”

“Fine,” Magnus pouts. “But, okay, Luce, listen--”

And then the conversation takes off on another tangent as Magnus (who is, by Taako’s experience, not the brightest fucking tool on the ship, if they’re mixing metaphors now) launches into a debate with Lucretia that he will inevitably lose. Points for trying. And now they’re--well, they’re still not great. Taako’s convinced they’ve lost this one, but the rest of them have bleeding hearts that seem a little more hopeful now. Things seem almost normal. It's all still a little strained, and Taako can feel the tension in the air, but they're better than they were last night.

Taako looks around the table. Lucretia and Magnus are going at it like the kids Taako sometimes has to remind himself they still are. Barry’s got his arm around Lup, just a little too stiff to really be casual yet. Lup is, of course, leaning into it anyway. She catches Taako’s eye and smiles.

From the corner of his eye, Taako sees Merle lean over and nudge Davenport’s shoulder, and he hears the dwarf whisper to him, “See?” Merle gestures vaguely to the table. “Told ya, Dav.”

Davenport rolls his eyes and takes another sip of coffee to hide his smile.

And, surrounded by his family, Taako thinks that maybe they’re going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you very much for reading. Also, a big thank you to my roommate for beta reading (and getting me into TAZ, thanks dude), and to my dear friend Maddie for letting me yell at her about TAZ things and bounce ideas off her. Y'all are great.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [@memoryandmoonstone](https://memoryandmoonstone.tumblr.com)


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